Simms started to raise his hand for emphasis, but grabbed the railing again when it shook.
“Food,” he said. “There are two things that are holding the Chinese back. The first is food, and the second is Mao.”
“Mao’s dead. It was in all the papers.”
“Exactly. Mao’s dead and Maoism is on the rocks. There’s a battle going on here between the democratic reformers and the hardline Maoists, and the major weapon is food. It’s China’s age-old issue: What system will provide the most food? Some boys down here in Sichuan have figured out that privately owned land is more productive than state-owned land. You get it? You take an acre and give it to a family. You take the next acre and have the government run it, and guess what? The family acre kicks significant butt. No contest.”
“How’s your backflip, Simms? Pretty good?”
“Don’t get itchy, I’m getting to Doctor Bob, I am.”
“Hurry up.”
“The boys down here are quietly converting the whole province to privately owned land. The only way they can get away with it is by being so successful that no one will dare to purge them. Old Deng Xiaoping knows that his road to Beijing runs right through the farmland of Sichuan, and he’s started his own little Sichuan Mafia down here. It’s going to surface if and when the agricultural experiment becomes an undeniable success. Then he’ll use that success to rout the Maoists and launch democratic capitalist reforms over the whole country.”
Neal’s head was whirling.
He asked, “Wouldn’t we want to get behind that? The democratization of the largest country in the world?”
“On the surface, sure. But think about it, Carey. Even you can think this through. Think about a China that looks like Japan. All those people, all those international connections, all that organization and discipline. You modernize that, you shrug off the Maoist yoke-I’m telling you Carey, when these people can feed themselves, it’s all over for the white man in the good old U.S. of A.”
Neal’s wrist started to ache. The pistol was heavier than it looked, a lot heavier than it looked on TV.
“Are you telling me,” Neal asked, “that we’re supporting the Maoists in this battle?”
“We’re supporting the legitimate government of the People’s Republic of China. Yes, it happens to be hard-line Maoist at this time.”
“And we want it to stay that way.”
“I believe I’ve explained the doleful alternatives.”
“It’s a long fall and I’m getting impatient.”
Simms smirked. “That’s just like you, Carey. I’m talking about the lives of a few hundred million people, and you’re bitching about your delicate emotional condition. My head’s getting clear, Carey. I can take you with one rush before you squeeze off a shot.” Come on.
“When I’m ready.”
“I’m ready to hear about Pendleton.”
“You just don’t get it, do you? Pendleton was on the verge of developing Supershit, Mighty Manure. It maximizes the nitrogen content of the soil, accelerates the growing process.”
“So?”
“So it would give these agrarian reformers down here a third crop. Get it, Carey? They get two harvests of rice a year now. With Doc Pendleton’s Homegrown Formula they could get three. That’s a thirty-three percent gain. You add thirty-three percent to what they’re already doing, and… well, it’s a lot of rice. More than enough rice to make Deng the top chink, more than enough rice to turn this fucked-up shithole into a modern country. We can’t let that happen, Carey.”
“Maybe you can’t.”
Neal watched Simms’s eyes. They were getting clearer and his breathing was slowing down. If Simms was going to make a rush, it could come anytime. Neal tightened his finger on the trigger.
“Well, it ain’t just me, Carey boy. It’s the Chinese government. They don’t want Pendleton here, either.”
“Why don’t they throw him out, then?”
“Boy, you are just dumber than mud, aren’t you? That slant must have balled your brains out! The Beijing boys didn’t bring Pendleton in. They don’t know where he is, and they can’t even prove he’s here. They have their suspicions, but suspicions aren’t enough anymore. Things are a bit delicate around here lately. Do you know how hard it is to hit somebody with a pistol shot, even from this range? Have you ever shot anybody?”
“Want to find out?”
“It was a rhetorical question, Carey. Anyway, it’s a renegade group running this Pendleton operation. Hard to say how high up it goes. Hard to say if Deng even knows about it. But I’ll tell you this, the Beijing boys and I are of one mind about this. I have free rein to find your friends and dispose of them as I see fit.”
“How did you find us?”
Neal saw Simms’s hands loosen their grip. He had found his balance and was getting set.
“You helped, in your debriefing. You told me all about the scrumptious dinner old Li Lan made for you. She could only come from around here, boy. Then I got hold of one of her brochures. She cooks Sichuan, she paints Sichuan… hell, I figured she’s from Sichuan.”
Bullshit. Good bullshit, but bullshit. Recipes and paintings couldn’t tell you my exact schedule and location, but what could? The Sichuan Mafia has a mole, a double, an informer. I wonder who?
“So how do you and Peng get along?” Neal asked. “Okay?”
The reaction was infinitesimal, but it was there. You’re good, Neal thought, very good, but I’m better. I’ve been watching people blink all my life, and that was a blink.
“Who’s Peng?” Simms asked.
“Yeah, okay.”
“You picked a hell of time to stop being stupid,” Simms said. “I was going to let you walk.”
“Where did you go to school?”
“North Carolina.”
“They have a diving team? Were you on it? How did you do in the three-hundred-foot freestyle?”
“You’re just not a killer, boy. You’re a disaster. The big mistake the girl made was coming to see you. We didn’t have a line on her until now. And now it’s just a matter of time. You fucked her good, all right.”
Time, Neal thought. Time is the issue right now. Simms had missed with his shot intentionally. He didn’t want to kill Lan, he wanted to make her run. Just as he’d done every step of the way. What we need here is a little time, a little lead.
He stood up and raised the pistol.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“Where?”
“Down the stairs.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m a funny boy. Come on.”
Simms eased himself off the railing and stepped onto the landing beside Buddha’s head. Neal gave him plenty of room and left four steps between them as he followed Simms down the steps. They walked down past Buddha’s chin, then his chest, paused at a landing by his belly, and finally made it down to his big toe. The brown river swirled just beneath them.
“Sit down,” Neal said.
Simms hesitated. He was thinking about taking his chance, but Neal stayed on the steps, out of reach but within pistol range. Simms sat down.
“Take off your shoes,” Neal said.
Simms untied his leather saddle shoes.
“Wallet and watch,” Neal said.
“What is this, a mugging?”
“You might want to take off your jacket.”
Simms got it just then.
“Carey, you don’t think I’m going to jump in the river, do you?”
“Now jump in the river.”
“I can’t swim.” “Float.” “Shoot me.”
Neal raised the pistol.
It was no good. He wasn’t going to shoot. He knew it and Simms knew it. Even Buddha knew it.
Neal stepped off the landing onto Buddha’s foot. Simms smiled and started to circle. He did a good job, maneuvering Neal between himself and the river. Neal kept the gun pointed at Simms’s chest, an easier target than his head.
“I can’t miss from here,” he said.
“Then shoot.”
Neal tightened his finger on the trigger. It was just enough to make Simms move. He jolted forward like he was on springs. He came in low, fast and hard, with his head down and his arms forward, straight at Neal’s chest.